Extreme Euphoria
by Hammerin
Summary: Mercedes encounters a familiar face at an assembly on the first day of school, one she hopes is a good omen during the year she determines will be different than the rest. Differences between the two threaten to tear them apart, though Mercedes can't toss away the possibility that he might be the love of her life.
1. Chapter 1

A striped sweater with a tight turtleneck collar, a pair of light wash jeans, and a beige shoulder bag were essentially all that comprised Mercedes's outfit. The first day of her senior year should have been wrought with balloons, an orchestra, a golden dress, and a young man with roses and a red carpet at her doorway. None of those things had been made possible, Mercedes instead stirred slowly at a bowl of dollar-brand corn flakes and watched her mother scurry around the kitchen, looking for her keys.

"I'll buy you something nicer when my taxes get back,' her mother promised, but Mercedes knew all too well about those fake promises, not that her mother had intended to lie to her, only that any surplus of money would be spent on food or essentials, not an outfit. It was completely acceptable, growing up in a single-parent household had to be acceptable. She knew she would see some people driving to school in new cars, wearing the latest trends, talking about their trips to the summer beach house, and she wouldn't be able to relate. In all, Mercedes had volunteered at the library a few times a week and gone to visit her aunt and uncle in Cleveland around Independence Day, but most of those long three months had been spent cramped in her small home, reading and doing chores to pass the time. It was an average existence. Surely her teens years should have been comprised of something more interesting, but instead she spent time by herself wishing she was somewhere else doing something different.

"You gon' quit playing with your food, Mercedes?' her mother asked, snapping the girl back into reality. Mercedes shrugged her burdens off and began to eat the, now soggy, cereal. Her bag lay sprawled out on the table as her mother did another run through the house in search of her keys, finally picking up the light bag and discovering them underneath. Mercedes laughed as her mother rolled her eyes at her. Collecting the rest of her items, her mother started to leave the house before stopping at the front door.

"If you hurry up and wash that bowl, I'll drive you to school, Merc."

Brakes winced as the jalopy came to a halt a block away from the school, as close as the car could get behind a line of busses and student vehicles. Her mother leaned over the seat, kissed Mercedes on the cheek, and squeezed her hand tightly. "This is your last year,' her mother had said during the car ride. "I want you to have fun, I want you to be the chubby-cheek, little, brown girl I raised. You have an amazing sunshine about you, baby. Don't let all them kids with no sense outshine you, you understand me? I don't want you looking back at this year thinkin' you could've done, should've done, would've done something better."

It was the typical routine: an inspirational speech on the first day of school during a car ride that would then be followed by bus rides for the remainder of the school year. It would mean nothing if her mother's words meant nothing, and for the three previous years they had meant absolutely nothing. But they stuck that time, Mercedes's played her mother's dialogue in her thick, Northern accent over and over in her head as she walked the hallways for the first time for the last time. Her mother had said the same thing for the past four years. _Don't let all them kids with no sense outshine you. Outshine you. Outshine._

Everyone moved in a blur, she didn't stick to any conversation for too long. One group of friends talked about dinner last night, one group of friends talked about signing up for yearbook club. One group of friends waved at her as she walked by them, Mercedes smiled and continued. Something about stopping and conversing with them about the same thing that she'd probably stopped and conversed about for the past three years turned her stomach; the conversation would probably start and finish with her attempting to make her summer break seem more than what it had been, and even in her bleak trifles, she would still fall short.

A long piece of colored paper, hanging by its corners and drooping in the middle was taped on the wall in the back of the school's cafeteria, apparently a means to sort children easily. Instead a hoard of hundreds of students pushed to see whose homeroom they were in. Mercedes stood close to the back of the crowd, moving forward whenever someone filed out, usually with a sigh and complaint that they weren't in the same room as their friend. After a few minutes, she made her way to the front and read her name under 'Mr. Roland' in room 234. Mercedes followed the train to the second floor, and, just as she had suspected and just as it had happened every year prior, was sent back immediately to the first floor's auditorium for an assembly: the annual first day's rite-of-passage. The line to get into the auditorium was worse than the line in the cafeteria, Mercedes stood in the midst of shoving arms and meaningless chatter. She'd caught a glimpse of her friends and made an advance to them, but they has disappeared as easily as they'd appeared, and Mercedes was left with the inevitable: sitting beside someone she didn't know. It wasn't the worst case scenario, that would probably be being forced to sit next to someone who smelled bad or a freshman who'd ask questions the entire time. She did her best to gravitate towards someone familiar, but the students were being corralled into seating like they were farm animals. Mercedes gave up and went with the flow, marching in what felt like a funeral precession. She followed up the bleachers, arriving to the highest row of them all. Two people in front of her made a dash for another row, where two vacant seats had been left by their friends. She yearned to feel the relief of her friends' remembrance, but that nectar was too sweet, instead she shuffled down the thin coral between the benches towards the end of the row. With someone already sitting at the end, Mercedes itched at the idea of being surrounded at all sides, but it was already too late to dash out of bleachers. Sitting down complacently, Mercedes slid closer to the boy on her left hand as a girl with long, messy hair sat on her right side.

"Let's switch spots,' he said just as her arm pressed against his. Nodding, Mercedes remained seated and slid over towards the rail as he stepped over her and sat back down. He pulled his collar away from his neck and sighed heavily.

"I swear to God I have claustrophobia,' he laughed. Turning to face her for a second, he joked, "I'm just going to ask everyone to switch spots with me until I end up at the end of the row, do you think that'd work?"

Mercedes shook her head with a curt smile. "You'll just have to try it,' she replied shortly, finally making eye contact with the boy. They locked eyes for a second before the bass of the microphone system tuned in, and Principal Figgins walked into the center of the floor. Mercedes shrunk into the corner of the bleachers, turning her attention towards the front, though the monotonous droning was a repeat of every speech delivered by Figgins: a weak attempt at stimulating the crowd of lethargic teenagers. Moreover, her attention drew to the boy beside her that she had, foolishly, failed to identify before sitting down. Had she known who he was prior to getting trapped between him and a set of railings, she probably would've turned around and pushed down as many people as it would have taken to get out of that section of the auditorium.

The boy beside her was well known and very popular, she imagined that she was probably the only one in the vicinity that grieved being so close to him. Mercedes wasn't a fan of popularity or the concept of popularity. But there remained the possibility that the only reason that was the case was because she had been at the bottom of the totem pole for many years. During her junior year, she'd ditched a few of her old friends in comfort of a newer, cooler crowd. Their intentions initially were to turn an innocent girl out, but over time she'd created a few sturdy bonds and rose the ranks. The dynamic of her friend group had changed completely. Like everywhere else in America, furthermore in Ohio, race cultivated the population. No matter how liberal everyone considered themselves and despite the fact that the textbook civil rights movement had ended over thirty years ago, there was a natural divide in the high school. No one would go as far as to call themselves racist or avoid hanging out with someone that wasn't the same color as them, but the friend groups and the popularity groups were all of their own accord. Mercedes had straddled the line in a group of misfits for most of her underclassman years. She was friends with a few Asian kids, a gay guy, and a kid in a wheelchair. Of course, the picture looked nice for a Sesame Street episode about friendship and equality, but at McKinley the ensemble raised a storm of slushies and slurs. Enough shirts had been ruined and her confidence had been beaten down to the point that Mercedes had trickled away from the group, instead doing her best to fit the norm. She dressed different, spoke differently, and picked up interests that weren't her own in hopes that the girls with bamboo earrings, boys with golden grills, and the section of the cafeteria that filled the air with rhythmic Nas and Master P might divvy their attention towards her, and eventually, with much suggestion, they did.

There was a hierarchy among all the races, a dance of popularity. There was, however, no popularity or social class without the division of race. Whereas Mercedes was popular to everyone with even an ounce of melanin in their deoxyribonucleic acid, she was a no name among any other student, and that was the way the world turned.

The boy beside her, however, was probably the most popular, or least well known, at the school. He definitely held the crown over students of his own faction, but his father's influence over the city and its constituents made his surname a household name. Sebastian Smythe, infamously known for his promiscuity and his wealth, was the definition of what Mercedes had wanted to be for years. Charming, attractive, wealthy, sexually appealing, and envied by many. She hadn't spoken to him in years, probably not since elementary school, but nothing had changed. He still had the same sarcastically humorous nature that, she assumed, drew people towards him. He played sports, wore nice clothes, and was well regarded by mostly everyone, but he joked that the only reason everyone liked him was because his father had gotten half of their relatives off parole.

How dislikable was he, Mercedes pondered. She watched him etch into his hands with his fingernails. He wore a dark University of Ohio sweatshirt pulled over a white button-down shirt, khaki shorts, and a pair of loafers. She imagined his shoes cost more than her entire outfit, and despite Figgin's loud philosophical seminar, Mercedes consumed herself with the theory that the boy beside her could probably buy and sell her, and she wanted to hate him for it, but she didn't. She never could. Everyone wanted to hate him and people like him, but an effervescence of charisma and nonchalance sprayed like a sensor whenever they neared, and everyone loved it. Even Mercedes, who claimed to hate caste systems, popularity, monarchies, and tomato sauce on pizza. She claimed to hate them all, yet ate it up better than anyone else, and for that, she hated herself most.

Three-quarters of the way through the delirious speech that, seemingly, no one was paying attention to, Sebastian turned his head towards Mercedes and pointed his finger at her weakly. "I remember you."

She was taken away that he had said anything to her, as he, along with everyone like him, was known for a conceited air and an unwillingness to talk to anyone beneath them. It startled Mercedes that Sebastian even went to public school, though many people had theorized that it was so that his father could attempt to ascertain some relationship and similarity to the people he served. In reality, Emmett Smythe could afford to send his son to any private school in the area and never sweat about the cost. That theory, along with every theory about Sebastian and his friends, proved the point that they seemed to rule the school just with their existence.

The conversation he initiated could simply be a way to pass the time, to distract him from his boredom and to earn himself a laugh. Afraid that she might be the butt of a joke, Mercedes remained cool. She raised her eyebrows and looked to him, feigning apathy. "Do you?"

He laughed and nodded, "Yeah, yeah. I do remember you." Sebastian turned slightly, straightening his back and hovering to create a partition between himself and the girl on his right. "You're the girl who wrote me a love letter back in third grade,' he paused, looking her over. "You're much cuter now, am I allowed to say that?"

"I think you have the wrong person,' she blushed.

"No, Mercedes,' he emphasized, Mercedes's blood running cold when he said her name. "I think I have the right person."

She grimaced at the thought that something so miniscule and easily forgotten had stuck in his mind. Valentine's Day in primary school was a formal holiday, in a uniform system, everyone brought in store-bought cards, attached a piece of candy, and wrote their name in crooked crayon. That was exactly what Mercedes had done, but she couldn't deny that the universal card set didn't atone for the feelings she had for one of her classmates. Instead of handing the freckled, green-eyed boy one of her Animaniacs cards, she slid a folded piece of paper containing, what at the time seemed to be the works of Browning or Bronte, a heartfelt passage about her unconditional and undying love for the young boy. Said student was Sebastian, and despite the colossal amount of courage it had taken to hand him the paper, Mercedes couldn't remember his reaction or ever seeing him read the letter. She did, however, recall him asking her why she hadn't given him any candy later on that day.

She shook her head and sighed heavily. "It was second grade."

Sebastian's mouth opened wide before he began to choke back intense laughter, he placed his hands on his knees and doubled over, further delighted by Mercedes's reluctance to laugh and her coy nature. "Oh, God,' he said and repeated a few times. "I knew it! - And you had the two pigtails on the side of your head, oh wow. I'm so glad you changed that."

Mercedes crossed her arms, eventually granting him a smile. "I loved that hairstyle. If I remember correctly, you haven't always been as cool as you are now."

Sebastian shrugged, "You're right, I used to run around my neighborhood in my underwear, but I've never had to nurse the blow of delivering an unreciprocated love letter. I'd probably die."

"Well, I'm still here. Alive,' Mercedes responded. "It wasn't that much of a blow. I just went on to the next boy."

Sebastian nodded, smirking a bit. "I'm glad, I've heard of a few girls so bad off that they write men off completely."

Mercedes sputtered in laughter, a head directly below them turning to shush the duo. Sebastian gave them a stern look and kicked their shoulder with his foot, much to Mercedes's surprise. She raised her eyebrows and grabbed his arm lightly, "You can't do that!"

He turned slowly with the same smile plastered on his face, Mercedes's hand falling quickly. "Incase you haven't noticed,' he said, a tone of arrogance filling his voice. "I can do practically whatever I want. You haven't been living under a rock, have you?"

Mercedes shook her head, "You can do whatever you want?" He nodded as she continued, "Except reply to my love letter, right?" She asked jovially. Laughing quietly, Sebastian shrugged his shoulder and pushed some of his hair behind his ear.

"You have me there,' he admitted. They continued the whispered banter for the remaining time in the auditorium, though Mercedes couldn't conjecture why he was sitting at his lonesome instead of with his group of friends. Unlike herself, he would be missed and an empty seat somewhere in the bleachers probably had his name on it, and he knew that. There was the possibility that he, too, was attempting to change something about his senior year, but Mercedes resolved to quit naming similarities between the two, because, frankly, they had few. In brutal honesty, as light-hearted and easy as their conversation was, she knew that once they left the auditorium, they'd never speak again. They would pass by each other in the hallway without saying a word, and even if she initiated a smile or a wave, it would go unreciprocated, and she would feel just as she had during the second grade. He was, or so he thought, or so he was treated, a deity amongst ants, and she was just another insect for him to swat at, or even worse, ignore.

That could have been the case or the possibility that all his kind words and pseudo-sincere jokes were a part of his method, that theory being pushed forth by the suggestion that she write down her number on a piece of paper when the assembly ended.

"Why?' Mercedes asked suspiciously, tilting her head as she withdrew a pencil and a notepad from her purse. She knew about his libido, and everyone knew about the urban legend referencing a twenty-year-old binder with the names of all the virginities taken over the years by boys at McKinley and who had done the bidding. Sebastian's name was apparently etched into the cover, that's what she'd heard, but nobody of consequence had ever admitted seeing the book even if it did exist. Whether or not the rumors were true, she knew he'd never dated anyone seriously, but he was always with a new girl or news was being spread about who he did what with where. He was a heart-breaker and a Casanova, and, according to many, more experienced than the teachers combined. She had no hope that they would ever be friends or anything more, but strong suspicion that she might be another notch on his belt, or worse: the subject of ridicule for being the only black girl him or any of his friends could toss.

"So we can catch up,' he revealed. "If I don't get your number, you'll probably just ignore me for the rest of high school, and then write a lousy memoir about your lost love. Daunting on about how you missed your chance and how you wished everyday for the rest of your life that you had given me your number, but instead led a miserable existence where you never saw me again. It's the quintessential ruin to all amazing writers, and, if I recall, your letter was obviously snubbed for a Pulitzer."

Scoffing, Mercedes shook her head and wrote down the number to her house phone. "Don't call me at any wild time, okay? My mom'll have a fit, then you really won't see me ever again." She handed the paper over reluctantly as the students around her began to stand and leave, Sebastian slipping the sheet into his pocket with a smile. Her eyes surveyed him, she couldn't conceive why he was interested in her or why he had any desire to speak with her further. It was enough to talk to her because they were sitting beside each other and she was a familiar face from a nostalgic time. That was excusable. What she didn't understand, what Mercedes couldn't understand, was why he wanted to get to know her any better, why he wanted her number, what needed to be caught up between the two. She could admit she had insecurities that formed a cloak of paranoia around her shoulders, the same cloak that had probably enabled her to be outshined for years.

Mercedes stood after him and watched him draw away from her as they slipped into the crowd. Her hand gripped her bag tightly as someone shoved past her, not bothering to turn back and apologize. She walked to her first period, sat down next to a familiar face, and took notes, just as she had done for the past three years. She repeated the ritual, only this time with the sincere belief that something would change.

* * *

 **set during the eighties**


	2. Chapter 2

As expected, she didn't get a call. A week into her senior year, and Mercedes was beginning to fall into her old habits. She found herself gossiping about frivolous matters at lunch, taking on extra schoolwork as a favor to her peers, and resolving to hanging out in her bedroom on the weekends. On the first two nights of school, she'd lingered next to the phone all afternoon, hoping that it would give a shrill ring, and she could let her mother know not to worry about it, because she had picked it up. After the second night, Mercedes swallowed her hope and returned to studying and reading to fill the void. It was idealistic, she knew, assuming that a boy would be the reason her life finally changed, she couldn't give him that much leverage. She could change for herself. She could start playing an instrument, start going running, start a new club at school, the list went on, but she knew she wouldn't actually make any real changes. The easiest option was to be rescued, and despite her reluctance to portrayed as a damsel in distress, it would be nice to be treated like a princess for once. Nonetheless, her savior wouldn't be Sebastian Smythe, that she knew. At most, he was a catalyst. At least, a mistake.

Sitting in the back row of her chemistry class, Mercedes used a pair of clamps to transfer a test tube of dish detergent to a basin of lemon juice, a lesson in acids and bases. Watching on as her partner took the reigns, she overheard a conversation from the girls in front of them. Nothing at McKinley stayed a secret for long, and though the girls gossip sounded trivial at the beginning, at the drop of a name Mercedes ears perked and she leaned in to hear the rest of the story.

Apparently, emphasis on apparently, (because there was no telling how many people the story had traveled through by the time it'd got to first period chemistry) Hunter Clarington had thrown a massive party that weekend, and everyone who was anyone had gone. Obviously, Sebastian, Hunter's cousin, had been there with plenty of girls, drugs, and alcohol. Hunter's house was completely trashed in a matter of hours, and after a time, the party had taken to the outside. By the end of the night, Sebastian was on the roof, a bottle of vodka in one hand, screaming about being a god. He'd jumped off the roof into the pool, and the bottle had bounced off the water and hit him in the face. Completely wasted, he'd emerged from the water, laughing and soaked in blood. Someone, not fully aware that there were lines of cocaine on a nearby pool table among other illegal misgivings, called an ambulance to help Sebastian, who was then coming down from his high and screaming profusely. The police, firefighters, and ambulance had shown up to the party, and after taking a quick look at everything that was happening, made a move to shut down the entire gathering, confiscate the narcotics, and, very possibly, make arrests. What shocked Mercedes, and what was the humor of the entire situation, as wild parties weren't uncommon, was that a bleeding and hallucinating Sebastian had managed to talk the police chief into going back to the station and forgetting everything he'd seen. Everyone wanted to believe it was because Sebastian was such a good and charismatic speaker, but the Smythes were recognizable. The infrastructure reported to them, and if they were unhappy, Lima, Ohio was unhappy. The police and firefighters left, the party raged on, Sebastian received a few bandages, and after awakening the next morning, hung-over and in a pool of blood, went to the hospital to discover he had a broken nose. A great weekend, surely.

Mercedes listened intently until her partner nudged her on the shoulder, encouraging her to write down the test results to turn in at the end of the class. She did as she was asked, removing the idea of a high, bloody, and bruised Sebastian from her mind. She would have taken the story as a joke or possibly an exaggeration, had she not seen him in the hallway after third period. She almost never saw him at school, and he definitely never saw her, though it was possibly because Mercedes was an expert at not being seen. However, she'd found herself staring at him removing his backpack from his locker, a darkness looming over his right eye. When he turned in her direction, she immediately realized that the story, though partially an exaggeration perhaps, had not been completely false. The bridge of his nose was covered in a white bandage that splayed out onto his cheeks, secured with minute tape. The areas of his nose that were unable to be covered suffered severe bruising, the area between his brows a dark red and the end of his nose turning into a shade of purple. His eye, much like his nose, had turned a dark shade of purple, the outside corner blackening, with shades of blue around the lid. All together, it looked painful, and with the bandage removed, he more than likely could have doubled as a lean street fighter. Walking with his backup on one shoulder, he shoved his hands in his pockets and made his way to class. Mercedes, unaware that she was staring, too engrossed with his injuries, failed to advert her attention when he finally made eye contact with her.

With a brief smirk, Sebastian said, "Hey, Mercedes,' as he walked past the girl, not stopping or waiting for a response. She turned quickly to respond, but as always, he'd disappeared into the crowd without a trace. Her heart skipped a beat, and though she had warned herself not to think too much if at all about him, she couldn't ignore the fact that he'd spoken to her in the hallway. She'd personally watch a girl be ignored by him previously while walking to class, but he'd made a motion to greet her first. It was a stretch, and though she felt pathetic, a smile spread on her lips. Unknowingly, an inclination to take care of his injury arose in her rather than to frown upon his indecency; he looked in bad shape. She wondered if anyone had bothered to ask him how he was feeling or if all questions his way had been about the party. It wasn't her place to be his caregiver, but she wondered if he was lonely, if he could use a friend. Not that she thought she'd be a good candidate, nor did she understand why she was concerned with his interpersonal relationships. He hadn't even bothered to call her. A very subtle attraction for him had always lingered, but she was unsure if she was reading too much into their brief encounter in hopes that it was the change she'd promised herself. It was unrealistic; he'd call her cute, but then again, who hadn't he called cute? What made her any different then any other at William McKinley High School? Surely not a note from the second grade.

After school, Mercedes walked home rather than take the bus. The bus, ultimately was hot and distasteful, an environment she'd nicknamed as the 'haven of sin'. She walked home a few times a week, if it wasn't too cold or too hot, raining or snowing. The weather was brisk, a bit windy, but overall satisfying. Instead of going home immediately, she usually stopped by a record store or the library to spend a few hours. Down the street from the library was an old consignment shop that she'd gone into a few times as a child, but hadn't frequented much lately. It looked tattered from the outside, but the inside had a home-like feel, one that brought a sense of nostalgia to Mercedes. Unlike most days, she walked past the record store and past the library, instead trickling into the thrift store. A bell rang above the door, but no one came to see who'd walked in. Taking a few steps around, Mercedes eyes locked on a few guitars hanging on the back wall, her feet guiding her to the display before she could tell them to move. Looking over the electric, then acoustic sets, she glimpsed a large, wooden piano in the corner of the store. It was trimmed in bronze with a wooden bench stacked with two purple pillows. Her hands gripping around the straps of her backpack, Mercedes stepped closer to the piano, wearily opening it to take a peak at the keys. Just as soon, the owner of the shop, a middle-aged woman with glasses hanging around her neck stepped out of an office with her arms crossed. Looking over Mercedes first, she pulled the glasses up to her eyes and stepped forward to the piano.

"No one's ever looked at her,' she admitted. "I guess they weren't the right fit. Do you play?"

Sighing, Mercedes shook her head. "No. I'd like to learn,' she revealed, tracing her fingers over the keys again. Singing and dancing exhilarated her, but there was nothing like the way the hairs on her arms stood when she heard someone play the saxophone or strum the guitar. Her feet and entire body begged to get out of its seat and move when she heard someone play just the right tune, she lived for it. Mercedes always imagined she'd like to be one of the people who encouraged that type of fervor out of people. She saw the piano as just as powerful yet more regal. The perfect medium for her.

The woman nodded her head and took her glasses back off. "I'll sell it to you for $400."

Mercedes bit her cheek, rubbed her arm, and stepped away. "I just don't have that much now, I'm sorry."

"I see,' the store owner trailed. She rubbed the back of her neck and took a few glances at the piano. A stain on one of the bench's pillows, a lose leg, scratches on the keys, indentions in the wood. Clearing her throat, she reasoned, "I don't get much business, I don't think it'd hurt if you came in and practiced sometimes. You can play as often as you want, and once you've got $300 saved, you can have her."

Smiling, Mercedes nodded. "Okay! That sounds great, thank you. I hope it's still here when I come back,' she said as she began to walk away, knowing her mother would be concerned if she wasn't home when she got off work. The consignment shop was a much further walk, and Mercedes knew she had a reluctance for pulling away from conversations.

"Oh, she will be,' the owner laughed, walking back into her office as she heard the bell toll again.

Mercedes felt light-hearted, smiling at the concept of a piano that was practically hers. It was, indeed, a nice concept, but after a few minutes of walking, the air didn't smell as sweet. For as often as she earned money, it felt as though funds had gotten tight around the house, and her mother needed to borrow some cash. She always promised to give it back, but Mercedes knew she'd never see it again. She wasn't resentful, but she knew how things were. Money was used for things that were a necessity, and unless the piano was putting food on the table, clothes on her back, or gas in the car, it was a luxury. She couldn't afford to get a job, not with college applications, school work, clubs, and choir practice. Though Mercedes felt like she was constantly at home at her leisure, her schedule was usually filled with tedious tasks and then empty timeslots that, for most teenagers, would have been filled with hanging out with friends, but since she didn't have a car and didn't live in the same neighborhood with the people she hung out with at school, she was often forced into staring at her four walls.

The piano was a nice dream, a wish, and working to have it could be a way to occupy her time, but she knew, in the end, it would be another source of disappointment. Mercedes conjectured that she wouldn't return to the consignment shop as she'd feel too guilty for making the shopkeeper think she had a customer and too morose for her inability to have something she wanted so close yet so far. There was no point in learning, she figured.

Walking up her driveway, Mercedes noticed that her mother had not yet arrived. The sun was beginning to set, and the walk home had taken longer than she expected. Usually by that time, her mother was already home and in the kitchen preparing dinner for the two. Climbing up her porch's stairs, she heard the phone in the process of ringing and picked it up before it got a chance to give the caller an opportunity to leave a message.

"Let me guess,' she began indolently. "You have to work late, and you want me to start dinner."

"You want to role-play already? Should I come over and say 'Honey, I'm home'?"

Eyes widening, Mercedes almost dropped the phone as she shut the door behind her and slid out of her backpack. Sebastian's voice had returned in a cool tone, much to her surprise. "Give me a second,' she said, placing the phone beside the machine quickly and running to pick her phone up in her room. Running back to the kitchen's phone, she placed it back on the hook and returned in her room, out of breath. "Sorry,' Mercedes began. "I thought you were my mom."

"Never been mistaken for a mom before,' Sebastian chuckled. "What were you doing?"

"I just got home,' Mercedes admitted, sitting on her bed and pulling the phone cord to follow her.

"It took you that long to walk home?' he asked curiously.

"Yeah, well, I stopped somewhere. It usually wouldn't have taken me this long.' Mercedes answered, pausing after a second. "How'd you know I walked?"

There was a silence for a time, Sebastian eventually saying, "I saw you while I was in the parking lot, no big deal. Not that many people walk home, it's hard not be noticed."

"Hmm, okay,' Mercedes responded, a slight giggle rising in her chest. She thought of what to say, doing her best not to allow moments of silence to pass over the phone call, which would almost guarantee him never calling her back. "How'd you break your nose by the way? Or bruise it or whatever?"

"Oh,' Sebastian gave a heavy sigh, Mercedes could hear rustling in the back of the call. "I'm sure you've heard."

"I wasn't sure if what I heard was true or not. I wanted to hear it from the horse's mouth."

"It probably was true, and even if it wasn't, I assure you, it can't be worse than what actually happened. Just a really bad night followed by a worse morning. I don't really want to talk about it though."

"I understand,' Mercedes said softly. She imagined that he probably had to repeat the story over ten times that day, and she wouldn't make him do it an eleventh. Anyone asking about his eye was probably fishing for a story about a fight or about a wild night rather than out of genuine concern for his health. "Just make sure you're taking care of your bandages."

"Thanks,' he responded sincerely, an expression of warmth at Mercedes's compassion. "I'm not completely sure about what I'm doing, but I've got an idea. I mean, it doesn't look as bad as it did yesterday. God knows no one around here is trying to help me. My dad saw my eye and never asked me about it."

"That's terrible,' Mercedes lamented, unsure if the last part was honest or a joke. She'd heard his dad was a hard-ass, but ignoring your son's bruised face seemed heartless. Assuming that he didn't care to indulge any more information on that subject either, Mercedes digressed. "If you ever need any help, just let me know. My mom's a nurse, so she taught me a little bit. I could probably help you bandage it and what types of products to use on your face. Don't want to ruin your money-maker."

"Yeah,' Sebastian laughed lightly. "That's what I was most upset about, I really liked my nose. I'm going to be pissed if it heals crooked. Maybe we can hang-out tomorrow or something, and you can teach me everything you know. If you want."

Mercedes remained silent for a second, the assumption returning that Sebastian may have only been interested in her for the potential of sex. She did jump to conclusions, that she could admit, but never without making educated guesses. Her presumption wasn't far off, but Sebastian had remained, primarily, friendly. Frowning, she asked, "Hang-out where?"

"I'm not sure, maybe I can give you a ride home, so you don't have to walk. We can do something else, if you have time. You can tell me if you don't want to, I won't be upset."

Mercedes considered the proposition for a second, she wanted to confirm. She couldn't help but to let her mind roam onto all the bad that could happen, but Sebastian, even when he wasn't trying to be, was irresistible. Another thing she wanted to loathe about him. "No, it's not that. It's just- you don't mind, like, being seen with me?"

Sebastian laughed, "We're friends, Mercedes. I'm just giving you a ride home, why would I be embarrassed to be seen with you?- Look,' he began before she had the opportunity to respond. "I have to go to tennis practice, but I'll see you tomorrow, okay? Just go to the student parking lot, I'll be there."

"Alright,' Mercedes replied, giving a farewell on the phone before hanging up. Her heart fluttered as she placed her head back on the wall and smiled deeply. The phone gave another shrill ring, Mercedes picking it up again, this time letting the caller speak first.

"Hey, baby. I'm going to be coming home late tonight-'


	3. Chapter 3

The day went by quickly, Mercedes passing from class to class, always somewhere in the middle. She recalled being an eager pupil in her earlier days, but seeing as though that had, too, brought her ridicule, she took to rarely raising her hand in class, even when the answer was on the tip of her tongue. She could tell that some of her teachers looked at her with a fondness, but their kind eyes faded after some time; she assumed they figured her concern with school and learning had diminished, as it did with most seniors. The bell rang to dismiss her fourth period and the students flooded out the classroom before their teacher could assign homework. Mercedes trudged out of the small room into the overpopulated hallway, holding her binder and books close to her chest before she arrived to her locker. Mercedes turned the combination even slower, her fingers trembling around the metal, her books almost slipping from her grasp. Biting her lip, she thought about how the events of her afternoon would line up, she didn't expect much. In honesty, Mercedes hadn't even seen Sebastian that day. She hadn't looked either, but inwardly she prayed that he was absent that day and she would only have to suffer through an apology for not living up to his promise. Her stomach twisted in knots, anticipation crawling at her fingertips. By the time she got her locker fully open, the hallway had began to empty; Mercedes drug her backpack from the enclosed space and dumped what she needed for the night into it. Closing it behind her, she made the trek to the student parking lot. The platform outside the door subsided into a few steps onto the pavement followed by a half-acre of faded pavement lines. A group was clustered around the exit, they didn't bother to move for Mercedes and were deaf to her pleads to get by them. Finally finding a way to squeeze through the crowd, she walked onto the pavement, allowing her eyes to search for Sebastian, though she attempted to maintain an unconcerned look. Her eyes eventually reached him, he was pushed against his car, arms crossed, gray and white button up shirt with a light green windbreaker on. He had garnered a crowd, his foot was on the front detail and he was scrutinizing something someone was saying. They made brief eye contact, Mercedes's heart fluttering a small bit, she felt a twinge in her stomach. She felt the corners of her lips beginning to turn up into a smile, but instead of waving her over, Sebastian looked away and continued his conversation.

Mercedes's heart dropped, she wrapped her fingers around her backpack's straps and kept walking towards the sidewalk to her home. She stared at her feet during the duration of the walk, doing her best to ignore the heavy feeling in her chest, instead she thought about stopping at the library to read or stopping by the thrift store. A massive, pathetic feeling sat on her shoulders and she made a vow to never speak to Sebastian again, or any boy for that matter. She wanted to take her mind off of Sebastian, and would take a drastic measure to do anything that would make her feel less stupid. After about ten minutes of walking, Mercedes turned into a residential neighborhood that usually prolonged her trip, but it kept her off the main road. Passing by a few trash cans at the entrance, she heard a car come beside her, not that she bothered to turn around. The car came to halt nearly three yards in front of her, a green-clad Sebastian hopping out of the driver's seat and placing his arms on the roof.

He looked confused, holding his hands in apprehension. "A 'no' would've sufficed."

"What?' Mercedes responded, walking until she reached the car, crossing her arms and pursing her lips.

Sebastian laughed, "Okay, short term memory, _obviously_. We talked on the phone last night,' he motioned a phone with his hand. "I was supposed to take you home. Is that ringing a bell?"

"I remember. I also remember when I went to the student parking lot you were with all your friends and you looked at me and looked away, so,' Mercedes shrugged.

Sebastian looked between Mercedes eyes, "I'm sorry, I didn't see you. It's a big school, Mercedes." He scrunched his nose, nodding a bit in emphasis, "You're really reaching."

She crossed her arms and made a motion to keep walking before Sebastian raised his own in surrender. "Just,' he sighed. "Let me take you home, it's getting cold."

With a loud sigh, Mercedes walked over to Sebastian's car door, pulling on the locked handle. Her suitor smirked a bit and sat back in the driver's seat, leaning over to open the passenger door. Mercedes sat down lightly and placed her backpack at her feet. "Just stay on this street and take the last left before the dead end,' she explained.

Sebastian asked about how classes were going, questioned her about her attendance to football games and wrestling matches, sports he held medals in for both.

"I'm not really a big sports fan,' she shrugged. "Never understood it."

"I get that,' Sebastian replied vaguely, coming to a stop and looking right then left. "I couldn't convince you to come to a game?"

"Maybe, you could,' Mercedes said, pointing her finger to the road that would put them closer to her destination. "I don't think I'd enjoy walking home alone that late at night though."

Sebastian took one hand off the wheel to rub his jaw, "Your mom couldn't pick you up? You don't have any friends willing to give you rides?"

"Most of the gas goes to getting my mom back and forth to work,' Mercedes admitted with a sigh. "And no. None of my friends live in my neighborhood, and they act like driving the extra ten minutes to drop me off would kill them. It's okay though, I don't mind walking usually. I just wouldn't want to that late at night."

Mercedes pointed to a few more roads that landed them in her neighborhood, Sebastian pulling into her driveway and putting the car in park. He pulled his hands off the wheel and wringed them, looking over at Mercedes who was already reaching for the door handle.

"Thanks for the ride, by the way,' she started, opening the door.

"No invite?' Sebastian asked, raising an eyebrow. He watched Mercedes flush instantly, her fingers tapping around the handle.

"I don't know, if my momma comes home and sees you here, that's my behind handed to me on a platter. I couldn't explain it."

Sebastian pushed himself back in his seat and shrugged. "If you always do what momma says."

She warned him to take his shoes off at the door, a habit that her mother had made her accustomed to at a young age. The front room was small and cozy, a fireplace on the left and a few chairs for whenever company visited. Mercedes offered Sebastian a brief tour of the kitchen, a well-lit, white area with a few remnants of baking soda from the previous night. She wiped away the mess before sitting her backpack down on the table and pulled out a few textbooks, preparing herself for the night's homework. Looking up from the table, Mercedes watched Sebastian, who still hovered in the doorway to the kitchen.

"Is that the end of the tour?' Sebastian asked, his hands shoved in his pockets as he scanned the kitchen with a blank expression but an upturned nose.

"Yeah, that's about it, Sebastian."

"Let's see your room,' he said boldly, walking down the home's main corridor to where he assumed the bedrooms were located. Mercedes jolted up to follow him in an effort to make sure he ventured into the correct room, seeing as though she felt convincing him to stop would prove futile by that time. Sliding in front of him, she sighed, prayed her mother would be late coming home, and pushed her room door open and closed it behind them. Mercedes's room was highlighted in warm tones and the sun's light shone hazily through the window blinds. Black carpeting covered the room and the walls were a muted red. Most of the room was accented with dark red, including her comforter, while her vanity and bedposts were a light wood. The room had a heavy scent of hair product or air freshener or lotion or incense or candles. Her room was small but immaculately clean, Sebastian's attention pulling to two speakers on the side of her bed that played a popular song from the radio.

"Nice,' he admitted, sitting on the edge of her bed. "I like it."

Mercedes joined him on the side of her bed, pushing her hair behind her ears. "Thanks,' her heart raced as Sebastian slid closer to her. "It's my own personal space, I think it has my touch."

"Yeah,' he laughed. "Rooms tend to do that,' looking around Sebastian laid his eyes on Mercedes's cracked closet. "I bet you have, like, one hundred pairs of shoes."

She laughed, "The only person with more pairs than you."

"How'd you know?"

Chuckling a bit, Mercedes relaxed, placing her hands behind her and propping herself up on her elbows. She stared at the ceiling for a few seconds, taking in the smell, the warmth, and taking in his presence. She wondered if any other girls were wishing they were where she was, but she didn't see Sebastian as unachievable. Untouchable, yes, but if anyone wanted him, well, they could have him. "I bet you've toured, like, one hundred girls' rooms."

Sebastian smiled, turned a bit and ran the outside of his hand along Mercedes's thigh, he slowed when he felt her shiver at his touch. "Just one."

"Hard to believe,' Mercedes whispered, considering moving Sebastian's hand. She watched him smile again as his hand moved further into her thigh, she gave a small frown when he looked at her.

"I'm not like those other girls,' she said, sitting back up and moving his hand away from her leg.

"I know you aren't, that's why I like you,' Sebastian admitted with another grin, that same chesire smile, the one she wanted to hate. The two stared at each other for a few seconds, Mercedes inching back and returning a smirk, with more malignant wrinkles in her cheek. Her worries personified themselves, and though her third grade-self beamed to be close to him, that close to him, Mercedes knew that the only reason she'd attracted his attention was her possession of sexual organs. An annoying sensation scratched the back of her throat, one she would have described as anger and disappointment, with herself and him.

Scoffing, Mercedes stood up from her bed and wiped her hands off on her pants. "I think maybe you should go."

Hanging his head, Sebastian nodded after, standing up and following Mercedes out of the room. "You're right,' he hesitated. "What was I thinking? I should've known."

Mercedes crossed her arms when she arrived to her front door, looking the boy over. "Should've known what?' she questioned, placing a hand on her hip.

He reached for the door and stepped outside, an attempt to be out of her grasp when he spoke. "You weren't cool to hang. I mean, you don't look like much, but I thought you couldn't be a stick in the mud… _Not with that ass_ ,' Sebastian gave a stiff shrug.

Taking a deep breath, Mercedes's blood began to boil. "I'll have you know-' she started in, but her focus began to lift from Sebastian and instead to her mother's car pulling into the driveway. Stopping mid-sentence, Mercedes cursed to herself and began to push Sebastian off the doorstep and back to his car before pulling her screen door closed. "Oh, my God. You have to go, now!

" _No, I don't want any of those products, sir,_ ' she shouted loudly in an attempt to convince her mother Sebastian was a salesman. "Bye,' she said, closing the door as she spoke, her mother beginning to exit the car. "I'll talk to you later, just, go, bye– _don't talk to her._ "


End file.
